


Marionette

by slightlyjillian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, F/M, M/M, complicated friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/pseuds/slightlyjillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Treize manages his ship in ways that his crew cannot understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treize can read between the lines.

They sent the youngest of the boys out into the darkness of space to handle the strings. They tangled so easily and after their last dash to avoid the Federation the alarms rang for three hours before the last string was restored.

"How are they holding up?" Treize asked. He did not clarify if he meant the people or the equipment. That particular tube lead to the gate-locks accessing the propulsion systems. Inside the whole ship, this area took the longest to cool down. He pulled at the sweat-lined cloth around his neck. His question was for the only other person still in that section of the ship.

He found Zechs monitoring the repair reports handed over by the crew leaders. The lights flickered briefly and both men looked up at the ceiling then exhaled together. Treize smiled, but his first officer had already resumed making his mark on the papers.

"I know no one is around, but you could respect my title long enough to answer the question," Treize said calmly.

Zechs leaned against the wall with enough space next to him for Treize to do the same. He read the topmost report over Zechs' arm.

"This last boy, Kolya." Zechs pointed at the meter of time. "He covered half the space of anyone else and took twice as long."

"Really?" Treize raised an eyebrow. That gesture was also lost as the blond man continued to trace his fingernail down the page and the column of numbers on the print out.

"Unacceptable," Zechs confirmed. He did turn to look up at that, and for the briefest of moments seemed surprised to find Treize so close at his side. Zechs twisted away a few more inches. "I'll leave my recommendation with your assistant," he said, then waited to be dismissed.

_Do I make him stay?_ Treize considered, the silence becoming only uncomfortable for one of them. _Or do I let him go...?_

Treize always encountered the same question, even if the circumstances were different. The answer never mattered as much.

***

"You requested to see him," Une repeated from the doorway. "Should I send him back? Or do you want me to drop him out an airlock... if you don't have time."

"Send him in." Treize motioned with his hand. He seldom had time to _not be_ the Captain that Une needed him to be. Or the Captain that Zechs needed. Moments of peace were fleeting and rare. Now what?

And here was a scowling youth who, when not slouching, probably was as tall as Treize himself.

He studied the boy for a moment watching the three second tremble that rippled upward from the young man's knees. One arm clutched the other elbow and he stared at the bottom shelf of books near the galactic globe.

This person, if they'd found the right culprit, was Kolya Nichol. Since he claimed both a first and last name on the registrar, Treize determined Nichol hadn't been a willing volunteer. Those were typically orphans who took the family name. To have a proper last name and hold onto it meant Nichol had been conscripted or, more likely, abducted.

Even without the documentation, his furrowed dark brows indicated the same.

"Please, sit." Treize motioned at the opposite chair. He wore gloves made of white leather. Lacing his fingers, he set his chin against the soft material.

Nichol had dark eyelashes which mostly hid his furtive gaze.

Treize took pity on him. "Do you know why you're here?"

"No." The boy's voice carried steadily, oddly full of unwarranted confidence.

"I've been looking over the logs. Specifically the summary of your work on the strings," Treize said shifting his arms to pull over the folder of Nichol's paperwork. He turned a few pages, then spoke again. "Merquise indicates you're the slowest man in the crew. Not pulling your weight, Nichol?"

That caused the other man to grimace long enough that his cheeks remained twisted into a damaged smile.

Treize considered the expression then said, "What I noticed is that the strings you worked last five times as long as any of the others. In fact, when we analyzed the last six reports, you've been steadily _improving_ the quality of our strings during dashes."

The damaged smile untwisted and the dark eyelashes lifted so that brown eyes actually met the Captain's gaze. Nichol murmured, "Yes, sir."

"So I'm promoting you to head crew leader for the strings. Train them all to do what you've done." Treize leaned back expecting to enjoy the resulting reactions from the boy. Acceptance? Relief? Or possibly pleasure? It wasn't often that Treize found talent among the bottom feeders in his crew.

"Let me go," Nichol said. Leaning forward, his dark curls seemed to come alive with vibrations of insane courage. "Let me leave this ship."

_Not the reaction I expected,_ Treize considered. "Why so eager to leave, Mister Nichol?"

Fingers gripped the armrests of the chair as Nichol nearly lifted from his seat. "Or kill me. This place... or someone..." He flinched at his own inability to say more. "I'll die anyway. This only makes it worse."

"Obviously, I'm missing some of the ship's gossip surrounding you, Nichol. Why do you believe you're going to die?"

Nichol's mouth seemed unable to close but no sounds came out. He jerked back into the seat and almost visibly smoldered in frustration.

"Whatever your reason..." Treize stood and waited for Nichol to properly stand for dismissal as well. "Whatever your reason, I will vouch for your life. How you choose to use the life I give you, Mister Nichol? Well, set high goals. Good work with the strings."

Nichol's salute lifted in a sloppy manner as if the boy was a marionette directed by frayed, imperfect strings. Une opened the door holding it long enough to let Nichol leave and to give her employer a long-suffering stare.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I promoted him." Treize sat again.

"My lord." And somehow, she made it sound respectful even when Treize knew he'd stunned her with his last minute plans. Again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Une didn't have a sense of humor anymore.

"He's very shy," Une observed. The captain's table became a place of notoriety. Treize seldom used it over the years, but had suddenly found an interest in meals with his command crew not long after promoting the youngest member of their number. Kolya Nichol sat at Treize's left hand. The burly youth seemed incapable of letting his shoulders relax and it tugged his uniform into deep creases.

Candlelight flickered across Zechs' blue eyes as he reached blindly for his wine glass. He had the honorable place at the opposite end of the table. Une had chosen to sit next to him when it became clear that Treize intended to entertain himself on Kolya.

"Do you recognize his name?" Zechs asked. "What association is Nichol?"

"I've never heard it," Une admitted. "And I checked the logs back to when he first appeared on the crew list. Enrolled just after the delivery to colony seven."

"That's near the border." Zechs squeezed the dainty glass with enough force to cause the liquid to slosh onto his plate. Treize lifted an eyebrow their direction, but didn't stop his conversation. Syllables lilted and drifted steadily increasing the dark red blush on the newcomer's cheeks.

"Too bad that with our peers we must have _consent_," Dorothy Catalonia spoke at last. She'd lazily let her chin rest against her palm. Her free hand gently twirled the food on her plate before she speared a bite.

"Would you have even noticed him?" Une chuckled. Dorothy craved power, although she could claim very little of her authority that had not been inherited through her relationship to Treize, the sort of blood bond that entitled her to call him _cousin_ and nothing else.

"I might have," Dorothy chewed, her jaw lifting and falling like an unsteady hammer.

***

That evening Lucrezia had come back from a negotiation. So to celebrate her arrival they rearranged their seats to listen to the dark-haired woman play a song on her mechanical instrument. The sound wasn't one that Une liked best, but the quality of musicianship Lucrezia possessed excused any complaints.

Zechs stayed in the shadows. Dorothy had positioned herself near to the new boy. She put her hands on her knees but they seemed ready to reach out at the first opportunity. Treize, still keeping Nichol close, had lifted his arm to hold onto the wooden chair just by the boy's right shoulder.

"Well done, Noin." Treize commended when the song was over. "What news do you have of our friends on the _White Fang_?"

"Things are pretty quiet over there since they accepted our terms. Peaceful, really," Noin smiled. "Do you want to know how many days it has been that they've enjoyed our protection?"

"I'm sure you could tell me," Treize said with a laugh.

Une realized she'd crossed her arms as well as her legs. She repositioned her body to not appear so closed off from the others. Treize always seemed to notice and comment on such things later. _"Elegantly..."_ he would order with the softest of reminders.

Her change in position let her see the slightest of movements from Nichol. Treize knew as well. Standing dismissed them all, he held Nichol's sleeve keeping the boy behind.

Une didn't want to leave the two of them alone. But even she was sent out to watch the door close behind her.

***

"Lady," Nichol squawked. "I wasn't expecting you here." He had his hands full of ledgers that needed returned to the staff room or Une expected he would have turned right around again. He sighed and then stepped inside so the door locked them both in the private room.

"Have you taken a lover yet?" She asked, seeking to disarm him further. She had many questions and wanted to see him lie.

"Why are you asking? No!"

Even in the half-light of the ship, she saw his ears turn dark. His skin was incapable of hiding any frustration. He put the stack of documents down onto the table and began sorting them into the files.

She leaned back in her chair and found her glass with the Barge alcohol she saved for special occasions. Une continued, "I understand you've done a magnificent job with the strings."

He paused, "I'm glad. They're fascinating... how they work. It frustrated me to see them half-kept."

"Not Dorothy?"

"What? No! Why do you bring her up?" His tone changed. For a while, he'd seemed sure of himself. That all changed with Dorothy's name. But he wasn't hiding anything there. Which left the most curious possibility of all.

"A person your age typically seeks out a sort of intimacy on this sort of ship. You have no family here, so unless you're unable to function then any one of the crew could..."

"I can function!" Nichol blurted in his defense. He regretted the outburst instantly, muttering an apology. Just a joke, he had to be telling himself. A cruel one, if it was.

But Une didn't have a sense of humor anymore. Her words became weapons intended to cut open the skin and bleed out the life. At first, the ability allowed her to protect the people important to her. Eventually, the gift betrayed the vast scope of its possibilities.

"Then what about Captain Treize?" She stood then went to the door. It opened allowing in a cool wave of air against her face.

"I see," she said. "That's how it is."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zechs wanted to see that world.

The whole of space, the ships and colonies, were full of many unremarkable people. Zechs swam between their bodies wanting more than a psychological shield and status to separate himself from the ordinary. But he'd readily given up the Peacecraft line in order to follow Treize Kushrenada.

The younger Peacecraft, a sister Zechs hardly knew, had control of the major trading ship-line. At first while drinking long into the night-shift hours, Treize and Zechs would consider the established organizations. What they were doing wrong. What could be done better. What Treize would do differently.

Zechs wanted to see that world. Then, gradually, the conversation changed. The vision became small details and work lists and, occasionally, a crafty escape. But Zechs couldn't live on the thrill of a fleeting retreat. His stomach ached whenever he ate rich foods, resisting the complacency with an agony that Zechs could not quite voice.

He stomped down the corridor. Various nameless drones clutched the wall as to avoid the attention of their menacing First Officer. He did not suffer being touched. Not even the casual brush of a sleeve against the fabric of his cloak escaped punishment.

Zechs continued toward his destination. An illegal message had been received by someone on the fourth level. He hadn't been able to determine the source, but, if he hurried, the subroutine used to receive the communication should be traceable.

He needed someone with skills to detect it.

His command code overrode every lock on every door. Typically. He punched the numbers and a red light flashed. Denied. Shifting his weight, Zechs fleetingly wondered if he'd miskeyed the buttons. But repeating the sequence, he knew that his first pattern had been flawless. The light signaled green and the door opened.

"Ah... Merquise," Nichol stood, pushing back the metal chair by his table. The new officer shared the room with another of the younger men. Zechs searched for the name in his memory digging deep into the forgotten details.

"Barton," Zechs said, satisfied when the second resident raised his eyes in response. "You're with me. Quickly."

"What do you need?" Nichol asked. He leaned forward as if he would go instead.

Zechs stopped Nichol with a glare, "I said 'Barton'." He turned expecting to be followed.

***

The Bartons had a distant relation to the royal family, but had gradually been removed to the role of outside advisers for the Noventas. So having a Barton on board was curious, but not beyond plausibility. Zechs tied his hair back while listening to Trowa Barton click the keys on the main computer terminal.

He'd informed Trowa that discretion went without question. Trowa had tilted his head with a slight smile responding, "Of course."

"Any results?" Zechs inquired.

"I can confirm that the sensor report is correct. The message ricocheted from the moon nearest to our trajectory at this exact time..." Trowa continued typing without pausing. "But the ricochet technique causes a splatter on our end. I can verify the sector but not a precise place the message was received." Trowa leaned back to look directly at Zechs. "Whoever created the shadows, the false leads, is pretty ingenious."

"Are you saying you can't do what I've asked you to do?" Zechs grumbled, crossing his arms and scowling. Trowa didn't seem the sort to be intimidated however.

"I'm saying that no one, not even the creator of this program, could determine which point of the splatter is the true message. Not with the time limits on the dissolve," Trowa almost sounded impressed.

"Pointless." Zechs hit the wall, a movement that also intentionally killed the connection of the terminal. "We're finished here."

Trowa went to the door. He hadn't been dismissed so he hesitated, then said, "Isn't there something else you want to ask me?"

"What?" Zechs asked, irritated.

Trowa let his hair slip away from his rare green eyes. The color was seldom seen in space with only the royal families keeping lines of blue or green. "The fellow everyone asks me about. I thought you would get around to it eventually. Kolya..."

"What about him?"

"He's a spy," Trowa said frankly. Zechs watched and saw the younger man had no visible tell. Trowa was telling the truth.

"Who else have you told?" Zechs wondered.

"Well..." Trowa put a finger to his curved cheek, as if searching for a memory. "The woman with blue eyes. I think you call her Lucrezia."

Zechs decided to ignore the bait, a different sort of thought had come to the surface. "Did Treize ask?"

"No," Trowa smiled sunnily. "No, he didn't. But they're already so close, our Captain and Kolya. Maybe it's already come up between them."

***

When Zechs went to consult with Treize, he hadn't put his code in before the door opened unexpectedly. Kolya Nichol startled and stepped away from the First Officer.

"Excuse me," Nichol said, seemingly uncertain if he should make way or continue his exit. Then both of them heard Treize's easy laughter from further inside the quarters. Zechs noticed the Captain had sprawled lazily on his couch, boot covered feet crossed and balanced against the armrest opposite where he rested his head. A hand lifted and waved from side to side.

"Run along, Kolya. Get in here, Milliardo..."

Nichol's eyes widened, but he took the opportunity to slip away. Zechs went inside.

"Why such an unpleasant expression?" Treize asked, craning his neck to look up at his longest companion.

"I've told you not to call me _that_..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothy wasn't a nice person.

"You are coming with me to get some new clothes," Dorothy announced, looping her arm through Nichol's. She smiled up at him and tilted her head so that he could not miss the effort she'd put into perfecting the coils in her hair.

"Why not?" Nichol replied with a resigned huffiness that made Dorothy's grin become even more pleased. She thought it might take more effort to wear down his defenses, but if he were going to come willingly... perhaps they would have some fun.

The ship had been docked to take in supplies and several of the crew received passes from Treize to spend one night on the station. Dorothy loved the opportunity and hated being by herself. She could occupy the same space as Treize, Zechs, and the others, but she knew she'd never be one of them. And as it stood, she would never succeed them either. Then Nichol had been introduced to the table.

From his reactions to everything Treize did to the younger man, Dorothy thought Nichol would be entertaining. But the way he didn't slouch and independently surveyed the crowds suggested he wasn't actually cowed.

"I'm hungry," he said, casually pulling them to one side.

"Kolya."

Dorothy turned to see Treize standing a few feet away near the check point. Their Captain beckoned with a tilt of his head.

"One moment," Nichol excused himself to answer the summons.

She watched as Treize leaned in, whatever he had to say causing Nichol's ears to burn the color of the alert lights on the ship. Between them, a small group of people went by holding convenience bags and returning to their docked ships from the retail levels. Then Nichol came back, hands in his pockets and shifting his glance to follow the strangers in their wake.

"Making plans for later?" Dorothy teased, taking Nichol's arm again. She knew that Treize did not share, but he did discard his interests. Or, as he liked to put it, set aside.

"Something like that," Nichol said. "I still want food."

"No objections." Dorothy clutched at her own decorative convenience bag as he suddenly moved her away from the ship ring and Treize.

***

"So what exactly do you _do_ with the Specials Squad?" Nichol asked. He had both his elbows hooked around the back of his chair and every so often Dorothy knew he was deliberately examining someone else in the restaurant.

She nibbled the chocolate on her fork. The flavor wasn't what she remembered, but the offering from the shop was close enough for a frustrated ship dweller who might taste chocolate once in a great while.

He raised his eyebrow. "Should I take your silence to mean that you do _nothing_?"

She matched his expression, but remained quiet. He emphasized interesting words, baiting her with the sound of incredulity. Of course, he'd earned his promotion through merit. That sort always had a prickly attitude toward those born into rank.

"I'm a strategist," she said finally. The most simple definition, the most accurate definition, and in being completely honest, a clear warning.

Nichol smiled. "I knew that he had to see something worthwhile in you."

"And you didn't?" Dorothy laughed. "Of course Treize has picked his crew with due diligence. He's an amazing man. To even consider _your_ talent worth nurturing? That wouldn't have happened on any other ship." She heard her own words, stopped and stared.

Nichol watched another person as they passed by the table.

***

Her convenience bag remained empty for most of the afternoon even though she'd promised to help Nichol with his unfortunate wardrobe. Most of the time they'd cautiously shared disguised stories of their opinions and philosophies. She did get an honest laugh out of the man when she'd suggested that Nichol requested a room transfer in order to harass Trowa Barton.

"Come on, Nichol." Her head spinning from alcohol they'd consumed before. "We've all seen how he wears those pants."

Nichol shook his head. "That person isn't worth your effort or mine," he'd said. Then determined to change the subject, commented. "Do you hear music?"

One of the nearby hallways led to a large room kept dark except for strobing lights matching the rhythm of a music style Dorothy hadn't heard. The colonies each had their own cultural preferences. This one was loud and moving, like the dancing people inside.

"Should we?" Nichol seemed intrigued.

"They're all half our age," Dorothy observed. But he only had to ask one more time to persuade her. Neither of them cared what others thought of them. They lived as they felt in the moment, only keeping the necessary defenses to protect their hearts. She laughed when Nichol tipped her in a sloppy manner that tossed her hair from the pins.

"Oh, I hate you for that," she shouted into his ear.

They lost track of the hours. Breathless, they both found a quiet place where they could sit and took off their shoes. Dorothy's ears still rang from the volume. Her heart still fluttered from the residual throbbing of the bass notes.

"I should get a room," she said at last. "Want to join me?" Then she followed her intent with a rush of trepidation. _Foolish, foolish girl,_ she cringed. Nichol hadn't become vulnerable to her for such a blatant offer of interest. And with what she suspected...

Nichol didn't seem to notice her discomfort. His response appeared as casual as any previous conversation. "I do need a place to stay and it's nice to stay off the ship."

Nothing more and nothing less than a shared room. Dorothy put her shoes back onto her feet. The discomfort offset the relief that her misstep had been avoided.

Dorothy wasn't a nice person. The pain reminded her of that with sharp clarity.

"You love Treize, don't you?" Dorothy asked. "Even for all that cruelness in how he treats you. Deep down, you _do_."

Nichol actually laughed at that. "Who wouldn't?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> doodle also by author


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I wouldn't betray you," Nichol insisted. "Never."_

Upon waking, Nichol pushed his fingers into his eyes to wipe away his dreams. Afterward, he remembered little of what had happened during the night. If he'd sacrificed his life, it was forgotten. If he'd betrayed everything good that had been given to him, no one knew of it. The actions of his sleeping mind resurfaced only in vague moments of terror. Sweat pooled in his palms. His limbs tingling with uncertainty. Paralysis. But if he couldn't identify the source, he dismissed it away with the foolish courage of simply being awake. The fear had to be all nonsense.

Treize noticed how Nichol might flinch at a word. Or how a gradual presumption blossomed into a heated rage. At first, the Captain seemed amused when he noticed. Then he'd taken to pursuing the trigger.

"There, again. You've taken a clammy complexion," Treize noted. His feather pen still moving along the page drafting a response to an inquiry from White Fang.

Nichol had been reading. He set the book in his lap, one finger holding his page. "Sometimes, when I'm in the text, I go somewhere else..."

"Don't call intuition anything other than what it is," Treize reminded. The Captain didn't suffer the supernatural. He did, however, have a fascination for the human condition.

"What good is intuition if you can't tell what your... _gut_ is warning you about?" Nichol knew the heat in his face just then was embarrassment, simple and pure.

"How did you know about the strings?" Treize brought up the origin of his argument. Their conversation reworking each landmark of the boy's development step-by-step. Analysis of practical work and a clever way of seeing something others overlooked.

Nichol sighed. They reviewed the story so often he almost believed it. Perhaps he did have a gift--something more than his talent in mechanical repair. Ironically, he could boast about the strings. The rest floundered in uncertainty.

"You were right about Barton." Treize hadn't stopped reciting the chronology, but Nichol prickled at the mention of Trowa Barton. Every time.

"Why you let him stay on-board is beyond me," Nichol interrupted.

"Because that is not intuition," Treize pointed out with an amused tone. "That is jealousy or infatuation or some other emotion. Besides, Barton's agenda isn't to betray _me_."

"We don't know that." Nichol's fingers twitched and he lost his place in the book.

"I appreciate your concern," Treize murmured. "But I do ask that you continue to indulge me on this one."

"I understand the others, but him?" Nichol huffed then moved the book from his lap to the nearby tabletop. He supported his head with one hand.

"A friend is the most bittersweet betrayal," Treize agreed. "I keep them while hoping that they'll let me take care of them for a little while longer."

"I wouldn't betray you," Nichol insisted. "Never."

Treize raised his brow and said, "Come here, Kolya."

***

A week later, Nichol woke up to a stillness and no memories of any dreams from the night. He turned in the narrow space of his bunk and knew immediately that he was alone. Trowa's bed was made as if Nichol hadn't seen the other man climb in at the whistle for lights out. The tightly arranged bedding mocked Nichol each time he caught himself looking at it. Trowa Barton was no longer on the ship.

He wondered what Treize had said when the company assignment landed on his desk with a runaway noted.

How had Trowa slipped away? Someone much have aided his escape. Noin, perhaps? Nichol bit the inside of his lip until he tore the flesh.

***

Nichol presented his propulsion report rather giddy with the accomplishment. The strings were in top-notch condition and every boy sent to run performed admirably. Treize could use them as an example for the rest of the crew.

"So anyone can do your job now?" Treize said, studying the label on the wine bottle he set on his desk. Nichol had expected a congratulatory drink until that moment.

Nichol choked, the words not wanting to come out, but he had to respond. "Yes, Captain."

"Come now," Treize smiled, a dangerous expression--one Nichol couldn't trust even if he wanted to believe in it. "I did say that in this place such formalities were unnecessary."

"Of course." Nichol looked away. He remembered when he'd been pulled into the Captain's office for the first time. How he'd expected in his actions with the strings to have jeopardized his best chances by risking performance over timing. A wager on his very life nonetheless. How he was ready to die, but now? Now he wanted to stay and serve. He thought Treize Kushranada was the person he could follow with his whole heart. He wanted things to stay the way they were.

The silence became painful.

"Are you saying you don't need me anymore? Are you sending me away, Captain?" Nichol realized with painful alarm that he'd used the title _again_. But the overtones of pathetic beseeching in the word only caused Treize's countenance soften. Although, he still did not look at Nichol.

"I don't think you've understood me at all, Kolya."

***

Zechs and Noin had gone to renegotiate with the White Fang. The distant business partner always took to those two with no small measure of favoritism. Treize hadn't resisted their request.

Nichol watched as Une pounded the Captain's door. "He had to be eliminated. Treize..." Of course, he'd ducked into a shadow before she noticed him.

The ship was banned from colony twelve. Killing their director bore little impact on that consequence, but Treize had not acknowledged her actions. He declined from sending notice of responsibility. He did, however, strongly suggest that Une rethink her strategies in the future.

The director of colony twelve had been Dorothy's grandfather. Nichol liked Dorothy. He missed her, but she'd not reboarded with the rest when the notice of eviction had been served and the strings let loose.

***

"Would you do something for me, Kolya?" Treize asked.

Nichol had lost track of the time. He'd nearly fallen asleep. "Anything," he promised, eyes still closed.

"So quickly," Treize shifted his weight. "Headstrong, foolish, trusting any order..." Nichol frowned and then felt as Treize impulsively set two of his fingertips over the furrow. "Angry."

Nichol refrained from knocking the older man's hand away. The movement seemed almost like a blessing. Or a farewell.

Treize continued, "Watch out for Une. Or _for_ her. She might not manage as easily without your help."

"She doesn't need _me_ to explain anything to her. You..." Nichol muttered, but his mind wandered into a different moment. Colors of sleep drifted in and he might be on a ship of the sea and not one for space.

He heard Treize's voice, but it was incorporated into the fiction. He turned and took a hesitate step toward the sound. Near the main mast and under the lanterns, Treize said, "Go ahead, Nichol."

Nichol smiled sheepishly as the salted breeze moved his hair. "Captain, is it only us?"

"Just you and me, Kolya."

"Of course, who else would stay with you as this bucket sinks?" Nichol kicked at the water washing over the deck. He had never learned how to swim. But in the night, he managed.

***

Upon waking, Nichol pushed his fingers into his eyes to wipe away his dreams. An atmosphere of contentedness warmed him from the inside. His body had never been more rested or ready.

The blankets fell away as he pushed up, quickly realizing that he'd fallen asleep in a different room. Although, apart from Nichol, the space was abandoned. Empty. On the second pillow rested a note.

_Good morning, Kolya. You'll find all the commands are re-keyed to your authority. Put that intuition to good use and take care of my ship, Captain._

"Don't just think that by giving me exactly what I want..." Nichol fisted the paper and threw it across the room. "_Bastard_."

He scowled. How could Treize just hand over his authority? Une would kill Nichol first, except she technically was still a fugitive. Most of the crew owed Treize loyalty, not Nichol. However, the ship's strings were in good repair and if he could use that leverage to convince the rest...

Nichol hesitated from his thoughts. Even if Treize was _gone_, the puppet still moved for his master.

"Of course," Nichol chuckled ruefully. "But only until you come back."

Then he waited for the confidence he'd had before to return.


End file.
